


Sam and Dean and Cas Get Haircuts

by mangotangerine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas being Cas, Crack, Gen, Humor, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangotangerine/pseuds/mangotangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Proper hair care is often difficult for hunters, but the Winchesters aren't like other hunters. They care about their hair. Well, Dean cares about their hair. So this is a story about how Dean convinces Sam (and Cas) to go get their hair cut. At a salon.</p><p>It's funny, I swear.</p><p>Rating for swearing and sexual innuendo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam and Dean and Cas Get Haircuts

They’ve shoved their things into the back of the Impala, and with a thump-click the trunk is closed. Dean turns to Sam.

“So, Sammy. I’ve been thinking.”

“Well that’s never been a good thing,” Sam mutters, eyeing Dean warily. “This sounds like the beginning of a terrible plan and I don’t want anything to do with it.”

He slides away from the conversation by opening the passenger-side door, fitting himself into the Impala and closing the door with a slam.

Dean doesn’t relent when he gets inside, slipping the keys into the ignition but not starting the car.

“It’s just been a while since we’ve gotten haircuts, and, not to be rude man, but you’re looking a little scruffy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare and rolls his eyes. “ _Seriously_? _Haircuts_? That’s what you’ve been thinking about? If my hair is so offensive then just don’t look at it.”

“I can’t just _not look at it_ , Sam, when it’s so damn obvious, in front of my face, offending me just by existing.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head.

 

 

Dean doesn’t let up over the next few days, which culminates in a shouting match between himself and Sam, eventually ending in a stalemate and an agreement to drop the topic.

As always with Dean, he can’t just _let it go_. There are a few days of blissful silence, but at the end of another successful hunt and during the subsequent celebratory drink, Dean can’t help himself. The pain of keeping it all inside is clear on his face.  
  
“ _What_ , Dean? What’s your problem?”

Dean just shakes his head, downing the last of his whisky and setting the glass onto the table, perhaps more forcefully than intended.

“I just don’t _get_ it, _why_ are you so against getting your damn hair cut? It’ll grow back!”

“Because I _like_ my style, okay?”

“What style?” Dean challenges, eyes narrowed.

“My hair is _just fine_!”

“Then why don’t you ever get laid, huh?” he points an accusing finger at Sam and then flags down the waitress, ordering another drink.

“Neat or on the rocks? Rail okay?”

Dean scoffs.

“A real man doesn’t drink whisky _on the rocks_. _Or_ rail.”

She rolls her eyes. “No ice then, no need to get prissy, if you want top shelf then _tell me what you want_ ,” she shakes her head, irritated. What is with pushy dudes and expecting her to read their mind? She isn’t a damn psychic.

Dean grits his teeth. “Jack.”

“You got it, buddy,” She walks off to the bar to relay Dean’s order to the bartender.

“Make that two!” He shouts after her.

She doesn’t acknowledge his order but comes back with two, a double for Dean. “You clearly need the extra alcohol,” she says by way of explanation. “With how much of a little bitch you are.” The last part is muttered under her breath.

This is why Dean loves dives. The waitresses aren’t afraid to be assholes.

Sam is smirking. “You like being bossed around, don’t you? Do you let Cas call the shots in bed?”

Dean snaps his head back to glare at Sam. “We don’t—it’s not—ugh,” he shakes his head in irritation. “Back to haircuts. Seriously, Sam, you need to stop putting it off. You don’t need to cut it short if you don’t want to, you damn Sasquatch.”

Dean engages Sam in an epic stare-off, eventually winning and crowing his victory. “Still got it!” He smirks at Sam, smugness written all over his face. “But seriously. Your split ends disgust me.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Split ends? What are you, fashion police now? What about _your_ hair? It’s looking a bit scruffy, _Dean_.”

“I’ve already got my appointment scheduled.”

Sam stares. Dean stares. His eyes are wide while Sam’s are amused, eyebrows raised in shock. “An _appointment_?”

“Shut up. I didn’t say that. Fuck off. Don’t say anything.”

Sam shakes his head. “I was just going to head to Costcutters.”

Dean makes a pained noise. “No. You, uhhh, my uhh, the place I go to, you uhh—they’re expecting you too.”

Sam is silent, lips pressed into an irritated line. “Are you fucking serious?”

Dean refuses to answer, looking down at his glass as if it is the most interesting thing in the world, before he tips his head back and downs the whole thing in one go.

“What about Cas, you got an appointment for him, too?”

“I—uh, I mean,”

Cas appears suddenly, cocking his head. “You called?”

“What the fuck, dude! There are _people_ here!”

“I assure you, Sam, none were watching. I am not so careless.”

Dean rolls his eyes, slamming his palms on the table. “Yes, Sam, he has one too,” Dean grits out, standing and throwing some bills on the table. “We’re leaving, this is too embarrassing.”

Dean makes his way out quickly, Sam hurrying after him and Cas following curiously. “I have what?”

“An appointment at Dean’s _hair salon_ ,” Sam answers, voice disgusted. “Seriously, Dean, a _hair salon_? Have you turned into a _girl_?”

“I don’t trust anyone else with my hair, okay?!” Dean says roughly, yanking the door to the Impala open. “I’ve been seeing Claire for _years_.”

“ _Claire_ ,” the laugh is barely suppressed by Sam.

“I don’t… does my hair displease you, Dean?”

Sam can’t stop the bark of laughter at Castiel’s phrasing, getting into the car and shutting his door.

“But last week you said—“

“No!” Dean stares at Cas in exasperation. “Don’t… just… we aren’t going to talk about that.”

Cas tilts his head. “Are you ashamed? It’s perfectly natural. Your sexual orienta—“

“Shut up! Shut up. Get in the car. Shut up.”

Cas slides into the backseat at the same time that Dean slides into the driver’s side, both of their doors shutting in synchronization.

“Are we keeping it a secret? You need to tell me these things, Dean.”

Dean whips around, clenching his teeth and staring at Castiel wide-eyed. Sam is covering his mouth, shoulders shaking with mirth and amused tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

“I do not understand your body language, Dean.”

“Yeah, _Dean_ ,” Sam barely gets the words out without stuttering in his laughter. “Communication is important in relationships.”

“Shut the fuck up! Both of you! The hair appointment is in a week. Don’t fucking talk about it. Just shut up,” he growls, starting the Impala and shifting into reverse, ignoring anything else said in the car, turning the music on and the volume up high.

Once parked and climbing out of the car, Cas chooses to materialize outside and in front of Dean instead of opening the door and sliding out.

Dean starts, swearing under his breath. “Just use doors like a normal person!”

Sam begins slowly walking back to the door of the motel room.

“Do you wish me to come inside with you, or do you want to make use of the room that the ice machine is in again?”

“Oh god, I didn’t need to hear that!” The motel door opens and swings shut with a slam.

Dean stares at Cas, incredulous.

“It’s—we’re in public! Sam is here!”

“Your brother already knows, Dean, I don’t understand why talking about it is so distasteful,” there is an almost imperceptible smirk on Castiel’s face. “You didn’t seem to mind last week.”

Dean closes his eyes, rubbing the palm of his hand over his face.

“I’ll see you next week,” Cas says quietly, and Dean hears the wingbeats before he opens his eyes again.

“Fucking _hell_ , Cas,” he mutters, making his way into the motel and pointing his finger at Sam in a warning. “Say nothing.”

“About what?” Sam says, feigning ignorance while his grin betrays him.

 

 

A week later finds them about to leave the motel for the salon, Cas appearing inside the room next to Dean. “I don’t see why I need to go with you,” he says, without preamble.

“Fuck, Cas, don’t do that!”

“You should be used to it by now, Dean,” he says, small frown on his face and Sam pretends not to pay attention to them. “Why do I need to go with?”

“Because you need to take care of your hair, _why_ am I the only one who understands the importance of proper hair care?!”

Cas shrugs one shoulder, “Appearances don’t really matter much to me.”

“I’ll be in the car,” Sam calls, leaving the room.

Dean stares at Cas. Cas stares back. Dean sidles up to the angel. “Come on, baby, do it for me?” Dean asks with a teasing grin.

Cas is unamused, and slightly confused, lips pressed tight into a displeased line. “I am not your _car_ , Dean.”

“Well I’ve, uh, _taken you for a ride_ enough times that I must’ve gotten confused,” Dean answers with a smirk and a wink.

“I will not dignify that with a response,” Castiel says haughtily, pulling the door open with more force than necessary.

“That was a response.”

Cas turns to glare, blinking into non-existence and re-materializing inside the car. “Point for Dean, zero to Cas,” Dean says smugly as he slides into the driver’s seat and peels out of the parking lot toward the salon.


End file.
